Distraction
by glitteratiglue
Summary: Thinking that Loki doesn't care about her, Darcy takes drastic measures to move on. Loki isn't about to let her go so easily. Avengers AU, Loki and Darcy are working for SHIELD.


I couldn't stay away from this Loki/Darcy-verse. So sue me. Sequel to **Detachment**, although could probably just about manage to be stand-alone. For **wineandroses**.

* * *

It's been more than a week since the crying incident, and she hasn't seen him since.

She's slept horribly, and she can't even attribute that to SHIELD switching her shift pattern back to days. It's because her dreams are haunted by green eyes, dark hair and Loki's smile. That maddening, wicked smile that melts her from the inside out.

Darcy knows she should count herself lucky that she's finally free of Loki and the strange hold he has on her. But it doesn't feel like that. She never thought she would, but she misses him. She misses all six-foot-one of his gangly frame draped around her uncomfortably in her small double bed. Misses the way he makes her laugh. Misses the way his fingers, his mouth feel on her body.

As she leaves the room to begin her shift something snaps inside of her. She feels dangerous, as if she could do anything. Like Loki.

Determined to _act_, sick of passively reacting to whatever he throws her way.

She serves refreshments in the conference room, and then Jane brings her another stack of figures on the Bifrost to log on a spreadsheet. They keep up a steady conversation about it. Darcy learns that repairing an ancient portal between worlds is far from easy, even though the very best people are working on it at both ends.

Jane casually lets slip that a certain disgraced Asgardian prince has been providing invaluable help, then pales as she remembers that Darcy does not have the same level of security clearance that she does.

Darcy doesn't react visibly, but under her blouse her heart rate is spiking. She says nothing, just listens to Jane prattle about how she hopes Thor will visit when his business in Asgard is finished, broken Bifrost or not.

How Darcy longs for a distraction.

She finds one in the form of a rookie agent called George she gets talking to in the break room. He's attractive enough. Tanned with sandy blonde hair, unfailingly polite, respectful, _sweet_.

All the things that Loki isn't. At the end of her shift, they stumble back to her room, stripping off each other's clothes in between clumsy kisses.

She's here to forget, and he makes it easy. He's eager to prove himself, and he does, his clever fingers giving her two orgasms with surprising ease.

Darcy is breathless, fists tangled in her sheets as she comes down from her second climax. George grins at her, satisfied with his efforts, and she laughs, even though it sounds hollow to her ears.

Something about it all is muted, like someone turned the volume down on a stereo. She's aroused, all the right things are happening, but something's still not right.

It's a puzzle with a missing piece. Or a missing someone.

Every time her thoughts try to go down that path, Darcy cuts herself off, telling herself that she's enjoying this. That it's just what she needs to get over Loki.

When they have sex, she's rough, biting and scratching at his skin. She's loud, exaggerating every moan and whimper, _screaming_ his name over and over again for emphasis. George is obviously surprised by her lack of inhibition, and maybe even a little freaked out by it.

A small part of Darcy knows that _he _has to be watching this. The thought of Loki watching another man satisfy her needs and desires gives her a sense of power she's never had before.

Of course, it's not so much about her needs as it is about convincing herself that she doesn't need _him._

_No._

She pushes those thoughts away. Concentrates on the familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach.

Darcy comes, and so do the tears, trickling down her cheeks like warm rain.

George apparently mistakes them for tears of joy, and wipes them away with the pad of his thumb. She hates that he's being so kind. She didn't want gentle, she wanted rough and fast and anonymous. Gentle makes her think of -

_No._

The tears keep on flowing, and she can't stop them. It's starting to get awkward, considering George is still inside her.

Thankfully, he comes, his head dropping to her shoulder with a sigh. Darcy immediately sits up, turning so she has her back to him. She can't look at him anymore, and she waits, listening to the snap of rubber as he removes the condom and flings it into the bin.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I thought I could do this."

She still doesn't look at him. Imagines George to look confused, hurt, like a wounded puppy.

"It's another guy, right?"

Darcy freezes, her heart thudding in her ears. "Yes," she says faintly.

She hears his resigned sigh in response, feeling even worse now.

"Don't get me wrong, Darcy, it was great. But I kind of got the feeling after a while that there was someone else in the bed with us. Almost like we were playing to an audience."

Her cheeks burn. She knows she hadn't been that convincing.

"Whoever this guy is, he's an ass," he says sincerely.

Darcy hates that George is being so nice to her, and it sends a fresh wave of tears streaming from her eyes.

She doesn't _deserve_ this kindness.

George grabs his clothes and dresses quickly, wisely deciding not to linger.

He leans over and presses a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Goodnight, Darcy." It sounds wistful.

The lock beeps. He's gone.

Darcy stumbles into the shower, her vision blurring with the tears that keep coming thick and fast. She soaps herself frantically and then sits on the floor, letting the water run until it turns cold.

_Stupid stupid stupid._

Grabbing an old t-shirt and shorts, she throws them on and settles back against the pillows. Darcy reaches above her head to flick the light off and hopes sleep will find her. It doesn't.

She cries quietly, hating that she's still not over him.

Darcy's eyes flicker open, making a futile sweep of her room in the pitch black. She can't see a thing, but she gradually detects a hum of energy in the room, and realises she's not alone.

The blood pulses in her veins, and she hears it roaring in her ears, her heart skipping a beat with the breathless anticipation of wanting something to happen.

She feels her bed springs shift in the darkness, as though someone's sitting on her bed, and then familiar, heated lips are on hers, kissing her passionately.

The missing piece of her puzzle fits itself back in, and Darcy realises what was wrong before.

It wasn't _him._

She winds her fingers into Loki's hair and returns the kiss eagerly, her tongue sliding into his mouth as he sucks and bites at her lower lip.

There's cool air on her skin all of a sudden, and she realises they're now both completely naked. She can just imagine Loki, smirking in the dark at his stupid little magic trick_,_ and it infuriates her.

His hands wrap round her sides and Darcy finds herself being pulled down the bed. Those slim, long-fingered hands part her thighs, spreading her so wide it makes her blush even in the darkness.

There's no build up, just his mouth pressing right between her legs. His tongue lashes her clit, and Darcy is folding and unfolding, undone already. His mouth keeps working her, soft lips and the _perfect _pressure and wet heat of his wicked tongue driving her into a frenzy.

Two of his fingers slip inside her, twisting within her until he finds just the right spot to make her scream. Within seconds she's falling over the edge into a second orgasm, gasping and almost crying with the relief.

The lamp above her head clicks on, and she screws her eyes up, blinking as they adjust. Darcy wriggles out of his grasp, turns on her side, covering her face with her arms. She doesn't want him to see her like this, vulnerable, her face puffy and blotchy from crying.

It's easy to be naked the obvious way, but not the other. Darcy feels exposed, powerless – and she doesn't like it one bit. She lowers her arms, letting him see her.

Refusing to meet his eyes, she sits up on her knees and flattens her palms against his chest. Her hands leave a burning trail over his cool skin, and he gives a sharp little moan that absolutely kills her.

She can feel those hypnotic green eyes boring into her, but fuck if she's going to look at him. No way is she going to give him that satisfaction.

She reaches down for him, finds his cock impossibly hard and leaking against his lower belly.

Darcy flicks her thumb over the head, her fingers wrapping round the length of him, and gives a long, slow pull. Her hand tightens its grasp, squeezes, and she takes pleasure in the strangled, pleading cry she hears that sounds so unlike Loki.

He suddenly rolls her onto her side, trailing kisses up her spine as his hands move her hair out of the way, exposing her neck for him. It's frustratingly slow, and Darcy moans, shifts against him, determined not to beg.

He laughs quietly, but then his lips pause on a mark on her shoulder - a mark not made by him. Her heart thumps.

_Fuck._

Sharp teeth scrape against her skin and then he bites down, hard, wanting to make sure she only wears _him_ on her skin.

Darcy winces. It hurts, but he's already soothing the sting, licking a hot, wet stripe on her skin that makes her moan. She takes a perverse pleasure in knowing that under his cool exterior, she's clearly gotten to him.

And hates herself just a little bit more.

Loki's hand slips between her legs to cup her, and she bucks against him, still overly sensitive from the ministrations of his mouth. To her own shame, she's already so wet that he can easily slip three fingers inside. His breath catches when he discovers this, hot against her ear.

His hand finds her knee, pushes it upwards, leaving her open for him. Darcy feels his cock pressing at her entrance, but he doesn't move. She grinds against him in frustration, and he seizes her hip to stop her.

They've never done it like this before, and it's too intimate, too _close. _She can feel every one of his heated, heavy breaths against her ear, and when he kisses her neck it almost makes her cry.

It's too easy to pretend this way, that they're just Darcy and Loki again. That she hasn't tried to hurt him by sleeping with somebody else. That he hasn't ignored her for days on end, even though he though he had to know much she was hurting.

"_Please, _Loki_."_

In answer, he pulls her body against his and buries himself in her to the hilt.

His thrusts are slow, but devastatingly deep, as he carefully draws all the way back out, then in, until she's shuddering. She pushes back against him, squeezing her eyes shut as if she can pretend it isn't him.

Except, everything about this is _him. _His coal-black hair brushing against her ear, the smell of his skin; citrus and leather and metal.

He leans back, and before she knows it, he's withdrawn and flipped her on to her back. Darcy whimpers at the loss of contact, but then he's plunging back inside her, so deep that it aches. There isn't time to shut her eyes, to look away.

The lamplight catches in Loki's green eyes, revealing pupils blown with lust, and his voice when he speaks is so ragged, so desperate that Darcy can't breathe.

"Like this," he whispers. "Don't hide from me."

His hand reaches down and shaking fingers lace into hers. He's holding her hand.

Loki slides into her as they look into each other's eyes, and like never before, it's awkward. Darcy remembers they've never actually made love with the light on – and she does use that term to describe it, distinguishing it from the fucking they've done on her floor, against her closet or the wall.

They're like two teenagers having sex for the first time, prickling with embarrassment and the newness of the experience. They begin to move, but the rhythm of their hips doesn't match – she's fast, he's slow – and it's ungainly and ridiculous.

Loki leans in to kiss her and their teeth crash together, and her head hits the headboard when she arches her back. They laugh, pausing for a moment so they can collect themselves.

He dips his head to her neck, lips and teeth and tongue sucking, biting, until she's moaning beneath him, putty in his hands once again.

Darcy digs her nails into his backside, urging him to move, and when Loki's eyes snap back to hers, there's no more laughter. He draws out of her, then back in with a sinuous motion of his hips that makes her cry out his name.

Her eyes focus on his face, noting Loki's every response as he moves – the veins tightening on his neck, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Darcy thinks how beautiful he looks like this – open for her, all arrogance stripped away to reveal the pure adoration he can't hide. She tries to commit it to memory, willing herself to believe that what she sees is real.

His hips snap into hers roughly, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through her, and she's reminded of how much she doesn't want this to be over.

"Slow," she says, and he obliges, shifting above her. He thrusts deep, then shallow, finds new angles that tighten the tension pooling in her belly and make her thighs wrap tighter around his hips.

Loki's lips find hers, and together they gasp mouth to mouth, stealing each other's shallow breaths with every squeak of the mattress.

Their hips push and shift and thrust, sliding in a fluid rhythm that builds and builds. It's slow torture, embers now rather than fierce heat as they prolong every second, trembling from the effort of not wanting this strange, graceful dance to end.

They keep on holding hands.

After some time, Loki finally slips his other hand between them, the gentle, coaxing pressure of his fingers at the spot where they meet easing her towards release.

Darcy thinks that she can't possibly come again, but she can hold back no longer and lets herself fall over the edge, eyelids closing as the white heat of an intense climax engulfs her body.

She squeezes his hand as she comes, the sensation so intense it borders on painful, her mouth open in a wordless cry that sounds something like his name. He holds her through every tremor, kissing her forehead, waiting until she's shaking and boneless beneath him before he pushes deeper.

Loki slams into her, painfully deep, and then he's coming, with a strangled whisper of Darcy's name against her skin. His body is suddenly ice cold against hers, then hot, the twin sensations overwhelming. His fingers clamp down on hers hard as he forgets his own strength, and she cries out with the pain.

He brings her hand to his mouth tenderly, his expression apologetic, lips brushing against each knuckle where fresh bruises are beginning to appear. There's a flicker of green light in the darkness, a whisper against her skin and the bruises heal.

Darcy wraps her hands round his back, holding him tight, and brings his lips back to hers in a bruising kiss. For a while they just lie there, breath mingling damply in the silence.

Reluctantly, they break apart, his body flopping into the mattress beside hers.

She glances at him, and his expression is peaceful, but when he turns his head to rest on the pillow, it changes in an instant.

"I can smell him on your sheets."

"You knew the whole time."

"Of course." His face twists into a mocking sneer.

Darcy is furious. Her hand twitches, wanting to slap him, or maybe just grab his balls and twist them until he squeals like a girl. Perhaps he's anticipating something like that, because with a green glimmer, he's clothed once again and moving to sit on the opposite side of the bed.

She pulls the sheet up above her breasts, conscious of being the only one naked. She's ready to call him on his bullshit, scream and shout at him until she breaks through his feigned indifference.

Darcy knows that what they just did was so much more than sex. It was that open, intimate, stare-into-each-other's-eyes sex that you have when you're in a relationship with someone. She's afraid to think about what that means.

Glancing at Loki, she catches a flicker of pain behind his eyes, remembering that she saw that same look when he bit down on her shoulder, trying to erase the mark another man had made.

Darcy's anger fades. She opens her mouth, meaning to ask him to stay, to tell him that she's sorry for what she did, but the words that come out are something else entirely.

"_Why_ aren't you angry?" The words burst out unbidden, her tone shrill.

He chuckles quietly. "Should I be?"

"I thought you would be. That I'd have to beg you to forgive me." She casts her eyes down, ashamed that she's admitting this to him.

"No," he says quietly. "I played my own part in the choice you made. I stayed away from you because I thought it would be better for both of us. My presence clearly upsets you, and I did not wish to make you feel like that. But when you decided to let that inferior mortal have you, I must admit I felt moved to claim you again."

Darcy scowls. "I don't know what we're doing, Loki. I'm just the lowly operative that you're happy to fuck whenever you need an ego boost, then ignore the rest of the time. I'm sure I'm just one of many pathetic girls on this tin can who've fallen for your charms and the whole reformed-homicidal-maniac thing you've got going on."

She's close to tears, but she will _not_ cry in front of him. Not this time.

"I haven't managed to acquire a harem just yet," he says dryly. "My reputation as a homicidal maniac must precede me. As for ignoring you, I seem to remember that it was you that wanted to put some distance between us. I cannot help it if your body does not feel the same way that your heart does."

"Bullshit, Loki. You're the one who keeps coming to my room. It didn't take long for you to show up after George left. Why do you keep coming back?"

"Because you _want_ me to," Loki continues, his voice soft, dangerous. Darcy's cheeks burn, and she squeezes her eyes shut so she won't have to look at him.

"Don't try to deny it," he whispers, taking hold of her upper arm, his lips tracing the shell of her ear. A tiny sound escapes her, but whether it's in revulsion or arousal, she doesn't know.

"But you needn't worry, Darcy. Your meaningless conquests don't concern me. Take Agent Coulson to bed, or even Director Fury if you wish – it might improve his demeanour. It matters not. There is more at stake here than you realise, far more than you and I."

The last thing Loki says is quiet, so faint that she barely hears it.

"Please do not think that I do the things I do because I have no regard for you. It is not so."

"Then how is it? Tell me." The light clicks off, and Darcy finds herself speaking to the darkness.

He's already gone.

* * *

I banged this out pretty quickly over the festive season and again didn't use a beta, so please excuse the odd mistake.

I have another couple of sequels planned, plus some prequels, side-shots, so keep an eye out for those. I'm not ready to leave these two and their poor bruised hearts alone yet. Please leave a review if you'd like.


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